From Your Mouth Into Mine
by Orchid Falls
Summary: It took ten moments before Maka kissed her. girl!Soul p.o.v, girl!Soul/boy!Maka


Dusts off account. Phew.

I don't own it and all that jazz.

* * *

**From Your Mouth Into Mine**

**i**

No matter what the rest of her family think; she says yes to Maka because when she's sat there, fingers poised still on the keys of her piano and says, "I always wanted to play the flute," the only response she gets is a curved smile and a thoughtful nod.

Soul's never told Maka, but he's the only one to ever respond without laughing or telling her what a waste of talent that would be.

**ii**

It still takes her a few weeks to get used to the idea that her partner is not the tall, dark and cool meister she imagined, but that instead she picked the seemingly shy boy who always carries the current book he's reading along with him, wears suits of all things to important meetings and fights, and gets this crazy look in his eyes whenever he gets overexcited.

Not that anyone is exactly _normal_ in this place, but sometimes she wonders if anyone else here was raised by good law abiding, non-homicidal maniacs.

**iii**

She's never cooked in her life and it seems such a privileged and petty thing to admit to - so she doesn't. It takes a week of burnt, over _and_ undercooked food (Maka finishing, clean plate and all, even smiling all the time as if he enjoys it) before she breaks down and admits she has no clue what she's doing.

Maka rolls his eyes, says _"finally," _and starts chopping up some vegetables along with a running dialogue just for her benefit.

**iv**

Now, well now she can make a soufflé.

**v**

It takes them two attempts before they finally get a hold of Blair's soul; the first time a disaster due to Maka's epic nosebleed and then slight concussion: hitting his head against the floor with a sharp crack as Soul's fist strikes him clean across his cheekbone.

She still stands by the fact that he totally deserved it. The idiot.

**vi**

The moment Stein grabs a hold of Maka and lifts up the hem of his shirt, fingers touching the bare skin of his stomach so that she can see the slight curve of his hipbone and threatens to slice him open; that's when Soul knows.

That's when everything hits her all of a sudden and she feels it sharp like she's taken her own blow to the stomach, robbing her of even the possibility of taking in a new breath.

She makes a promise to herself in that moment: that never again will she let anyone touch her partner that way; that never again will she let anybody hurt him.

Because he is hers, Soul's, and even without the last breath left in her body she'll do everything she can to protect him.

**vii**

That night with the borrowed shirt that she's sleeping in barely brushing her knees, she sits next to Maka and listens to him describe what it feels like to _see _a soul, watching as his lips curve and round and the words bubble up out of his throat, excited. He keeps swiping a curl of hair away from his eyes and Soul feels the strongest temptation to swipe it back against his ear. Instead she sits content and comfortable, her knee bumping up against his own and her fingers wrapped tight around the skinny bones of his wrist; his pulse steady and beating against the tips of her fingers.

**viii**

She doesn't think twice about stepping in between Maka and the dark demon blade coming for him. She's never believed in that bull crap about men protecting girls – and she's always been one to follow her own set of rules anyway.

The sharp taste of blood that fills her mouth when the blade strikes her is worth it for the fact that Maka remains intact, perfectly unharmed and still standing.

**ix**

Maka's never had a good relationship with his Father and strives to be everything that he isn't, even to the point of denying that they're blood related. Instead choosing to prove himself academically and ignoring the approving looks Spirit gives him when he sees Soul by his side, palms flat against the tops of Maka's shoulder.

In the hospital, new wound stretching from the tip of her shoulder, under the curve of her breast and down to the bruised lines of her hips, fresh bandages itching; Soul sits and watches Maka rub his shaking fingers over and over the pale skin of her hand. His eyes wet and glossy, whispering words of thanks that Spirit made it there in time, that his Father isn't such an idiot after all. That thanks to him Soul is still alive and breathing.

**x**

It takes hours of plumping her cushions, making endless cups of tea and faffing with her blankets before Maka finally sits down, silent, nervous and exhausted. An apology fat on his lips before Soul tells him to "shut up already," her fists tight and angry.

He moves towards her then, tracing the line that her scar makes under the cover of her jumper, his free hand moving to unwind her fists and take a hold of her fingers in his own.

Soul wants to say that it's her duty to protect him and that she'd damn well do it again in a heartbeat, but Maka has an intense look on his face like he's about to do or say something important and suddenly Soul finds his lips over her own, stifling whatever she was about to say and making nothing but a low buzz take over the space that her brain uses for thinking. Soul tightens her fingers around his own, ignoring the ache that burns in her chest as she stretches up to better reach him, to better grab at his sleeve and his shirt and whatever inch of skin she can lay her fingers on.

A promise whispered in the seal of their lips that they'll always look after each other and that no matter what they'll always be there to watch over each other's back.

**End.**

**

* * *

**

Comments and crit are always appreciated.


End file.
